


Turning 21

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Series: Drunk!Verse [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 21st birthday shenanigans, F/M, and also show tunes, drunk simmons, just FYI, pop songs from 2008, probably too much vomit, sober fitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 09:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3846196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Simmons' 21st birthday and Fitz is on drunksitting duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning 21

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilsciencequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/gifts).



> I know that where Fitz and Simmons come from, the legal drinking age is younger than 21. I also know that their American friends probably treated them to a proper _American_ 21st birthday because tradition. Also, it's fun to make your friends feel terrible?
> 
> This fic is based on a prompt left in the comments of Running Out. Nothing like a crack fic to inspire another crack fic :)

Fitz screwed up his face and tried to pull his head back from the hands that were smooshing his cheeks. They were surprisingly strong, considering how small they were.

  
“Jemma,” he said patiently, trying to get her attention.

“I kissed a girl, and I liked it!” Jemma sang, loudly and off key, poking at Fitz’s cheeks in an attempt to get him to sing along. Her approach hadn’t been working for the last 20 minutes, but she wasn’t one to give up. She mumbled a little bit before singing again, “I kissed a girl, and I liked it!” While her enthusiasm level was high, her knowledge of the lyrics left something to be desired.

Fitz sighed and once more dodged out of the way of her flailing fingers. “Jemma,” he tried again. This approach had been about as successful as hers since this whole singing situation had started, but he didn’t really know what other techniques to try.

When the latest poke came dangerously close to his eye, he grabbed both her wrists in his hands. “Watch it now,” he warned her. He tried to remind himself that when he’d turned 21 the month before he’d somehow managed to vomit _inside_ her shoes, _while she was wearing them_. Babysitting her now was the least he could do.

Jemma looked up at him with a slightly confused look on her face as she tried in vain to keep smooshing his cheeks. “Fitz?” she asked, waving her hands helplessly in front of him as he maintained his hold.

“Yeah?” he asked warily in return.

Throwing back her head and arching her back until she stumbled into him, she sang even louder and more off-key than before. “Will you be my American Boy? American Boy!”

  
Fitz rolled his eyes as he caught her, then looked increasingly alarmed as she dropped like a dead weight into his arms. “Shit!” he exclaimed. “Shit, shit, shit! _Jemma_!” He slowly sank down to the ground, trying to make sure she didn’t get hurt.

They landed with a soft thump on the sidewalk, Jemma sprawled unceremoniously on top of him. She burped quietly in his ear.

“Jemma?” he asked, pushing slightly against her in the hopes that she’d get off of him. That burp had been a zesty combination of beer nuts, booze, and bbq chicken wings and it was only a matter of time before one or both of them threw up.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, burrowing her chin into his chest like a jackhammer through concrete.

“Do you think you can get up?” he asked. It was always best to _ask_ her to do things when she was drunk. Stubborn as she could be sober, she was even worse when inebriated, and she did _not_ take well to being told what to do.

She shook her head, somehow managing to elbow him in the stomach as she burped again. Fitz felt the bile rise up and determinedly swallowed it down again. He could _not_ vomit on her again. Especially not when he was the sober one!

“Please, Jemma?” he asked in the sort of tone that is usually reserved for children asking Santa for a Christmas present.

“Pfffft,” she snorted, gracing him with yet another whiff of breath so bad that even a zombie would smell minty-fresh in comparison. Putting one hand on his stomach, she pushed down hard in order to launch herself up and only managed to roll over onto her back beside him.

Fitz groaned and continued his valiant attempt to keep the contents of his stomach contained in his stomach as he caught her roll before she toppled right into the street.

Jemma, for her part, had flung one arm out wide to splash it in the remnants of a puddle. "Singing in the rain!" she began. "Just singing in the rain!" She beamed up at Fitz as he grumbled his way to his feet beside her. "It's raining, Fitz!" she shouted, jubilantly.

Fitz closed his eyes and rubbed them with one hand. He was getting a stress headache, he could tell. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes just in time to see Simmons start to roll over to be closer to the puddle. He jumped into action and pulled her back from the sidewalk's edge and then tried to haul her to her feet.

"C'mon, Jemma," he urged her. "Upsy-daisy!"

"Mm not a daisy!" Jemma protested, swatting at his hands.

"More like a thistle," Fitz muttered under his breath, reaching down to try once more and pick her up.

"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him and focusing both of them on his face for the first time since her second shot of tequila.

Fitz hesitated for a moment. "Just up this hill," he tried, nodding in the direction of her apartment. "We're _almost_ home," he smiled slightly manically. Enthusiasm sometimes worked where requests did not. It was worth a try, anyway.

Jemma stared hard at him for a moment. "Fitz," she began, and her tone of voice was dangerous.

"Yeah?" he asked, reassuring himself that in her present state he could totally outrun her if need be.

"Am I mad at you?" she asked, trying to look angry but mostly just looking confused.

"No?" he said uncertainly.

"Good," she sighed happily.

Fitz blinked. If only it were that easy when she were sober. He reached down again, this time offering her his hand instead of trying to grab hers. "Ready to get up?" he asked. If he followed his own rules, this whole process would go much more smoothly.

Jemma grabbed his hands in both of hers and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Once there, however, she seemed to have some difficulties finding which direction gravity was working in at the time. "Too spinny," she shook her head. When that only exacerbated the problem, she grabbed her head in both her hands to keep it still and tried to sit down on the sidewalk again.

" _Oh_ no," Fitz protested loudly, catching her around her waist and keeping her upright. He turned her slowly towards her apartment but continued holding her hips as he waited to see the results of this latest movement.

"You spin me right round, baby!" Jemma giggled, leaning back against him. She reached behind her to grab the back of his head and managed to do so on her fourth attempt. Dragging him down, she whispered loudly in his ear, "Right round, like a record, baby!"

Fitz tried not to breathe too deeply as her rancid breath washed over his face. Keeping one hand on her hip to steady her, his other came up to remove hers from his head. Why did she always have to pull his hair when she was drunk? What had it ever done to her.

"Fancy a walk?" he asked, starting them moving slowly forward. He was really regretting not taking a cab the three blocks to her place. He really should have known better.

Jemma shook her head vehemently. Then she clutched at her stomach for a moment before leaning over to decorate Fitz's shirt and jeans with bar food.

He jumped back after the initial onslaught only to get the second wave on his shoes. "God _fucking_ damnit," he cursed, flinging his hands out to his sides. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me right now?" he muttered under his breath as he watched Simmons fall to her knees and continue to heave. This was, without a doubt, the most disgusting moment of his life.

Worse even than the cat liver.

He shuddered and moved slowly behind Simmons to grab her hair out of the way, doing his best not to let his clothing move to much over his skin. It was a losing battle. Everything between his nipples and his knees felt warm and clammy and increasingly sticky as the damp worked its way through the cloth.

When the final surge passed and she had finished spitting out the last remnants of her stomach contents, Jemma looked up at him with moist, red eyes. "I'm sorry," she moaned, covering her face with her hands.

Fitz sighed and pulled her to her feet again. "It's alright, Jemma," he reassured her, patting her gently on the back. "It's alright." Turning her slowly around once more, he pointed her where they needed to go and wrapped one arm securely around her shoulders. Moving very slowly in the hopes that she wouldn't really notice it happening, he got them walking down the block.

Jemma continued singing, this time much more quietly, but it was still loud enough for him to identify, "Paint with all the colours of the wind."

He chuckled to himself. Drunk or not, she hadn't lost her sense of humour, that was for sure. Except she didn't seem to be laughing. He caught a sniffle at the end of the next line.

"Hey," he said cheerfully, squeezing her shoulder. "We're almost home," he reassured her.

"Fitz?" she asked, and she sounded like she was on the verge of sobbing.

"Yeah?" he asked, desperately trying to figure out how he could get maudlin Simmons back to loud Simmons. Of the two, he definitely knew which one he was better equipped to deal with.

"Are you mad at me?" she whispered.

"Mad?" he asked, trying to make it sound like the world's most ridiculous idea. "Why would I be mad?" They were so close. If he could just get her home and in her bed, he'd be free.

"Because I--" she sniffled again. "I--" she pointed to his clothes and started crying.

Fitz immediately panicked. No! They were _almost there!_ His eyes shifted back and forth as he tried to find a way back to fun and crazy Simmons.

"Ha..." he cleared his throat. "Hakuna matata," he said hesitantly. "What a, um, what a wonderful phrase?" he asked, holding his breath.

Simmons hiccuped and wiped a hand across her nose. "What?" she asked.

Fitz attempted a smile. It might just work. "Hakuna matata," he said again, this time with more confidence. "Ain't no passing craze," he sang a bit louder. He paused, waiting for her to join in. When she just looked up at him with her big brown eyes, he took a deep breath and decided to fully commit. "It means no worries for the rest of your days," he belted out, and his singing was amazingly worse than hers.

Jemma smiled at him, eyes lighting up.

"It's our problem-free," he continued, looking at her with wide expectant eyes.

"Philosophy!" she chimed in.

"Hakuna matata!" they sang together.

"Hakuna matata," Jemma sang again, although it ended in a fit of the giggles.

Fitz propped her up against the wall and fished in her pocket for her keys.

"You like the Lion King," she teased him fondly, poking him in the chest, above the vomit.

"Everybody like the Lion King," Fitz shrugged, pushing the door open and pulling her inside.

"Yeah," Simmons nodded, teetered, caught herself, and then collapsed on her sofa. "But _you_ like the Lion King," she pointed out as if this was shocking news.

Fitz rolled his eyes and sighed. Forty-five minutes to walk three blocks, the last twenty of that covered in vomit. This _definitely_ made up for his 21st. No question.

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Maybe It's Not My Weekend (But It's Gonna Be My Year)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5594587) by [Lilsciencequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/pseuds/Lilsciencequeen)




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